John Mandrake & Nathaniel
by Theleafylord
Summary: The Epic /not really/  adventures of Nathaniel and Bartimaeus between The Golem's Eye and Ptolemy's gate.
1. And So It Begins

And so it begins…

So there I was, relaxing in the other place, flowing freely, no form , no rules. Like being in a nice warm bath at the end of a very long day(a very long day which consisted of more than 5000 years of slavery), when I felt the all too familiar and all too unwelcome tug.

I was being summoned. And there was only one person who had summoned me in the past five years…

Even though I had already wowed this particular audience many times, it was still showtime.

Despite not being able to stand his face, it was still amusing to see him sputter when the guilt inducing visage of Kitty Jones appeared in the pentacle. Nose red. Eye's blurry, like she'd been interrupted in the middle of a good cry. I looked up at him, schooling her features into a delightful mixture of hate, sorrow and fear.

"Nice Bartimaeus, "old Natty said, regaining his composure. "I guess at this point I'm supposed to be tormented by the guilt and run out of the pentacle like this is my first summoning right?" He rolled his eyes. "Really, I expected better."

No fooling me though. I could tell that more than his own form decaying, more than any monster or any other visage of beauty, this guise would guarantee me more amusement than a magician with Parkinsons( many happy stories come from magicians being unable to draw properly or making eloquent hand gestures. My personal favorite involves a certain dashing Djinn and some rather badly misinterpreted hand gestures.)

I changed the guise a bit, replacing the look of "I've just cried" with a look that said "I've just realized I love uptight ponces in suits that are far too tight for them". I changed he outfit so that she now wore a blouse(quite forgetting to button up the top) and then I exaggerated her curves.(Nothing over the top. Just a few light touches to make what was there even more desirable.)

"What do you want from me master?" I simpered.

He sputtered a bit more, his complexion suggesting that his blood was rapidly alternating between speeding up and trying to go down and then giving up due to the tightness of said suit. But it wouldn't last long. Nat had enough experience and considerable self control now. I estimated it would be mere seconds before he took control of himself. I had to strike hard before that.

Bending forward so that he had a delightful view I whispered "Oh John…I need you…"

Me and Nat stared at each other and we both burst out laughing.

"Just a bit too far eh Nat?" I asked, quickly lapsing back into the guise of Ptlomey.

"A bit." Said Nat, sighing and sitting down. " It became too obviously you…when you still looked like her…" ( Ah, the ideas he gives me to torment him with. Next he'll be telling me his childhood fears and confessing that he only ever wanted a friend. And possibly not to have been mauled by demons at the age of six. Can't have everything I suppose.)

"So what is it this time? I can't think of your star waning this quickly after saving the entire government _again…" _ I said. Really, it seems every time I'm summoned I wind up saving the entire British Empire. Typical that I save it in a covert way while certain other Djinn (ie Farquarl) keep saving _their_ empires in ways which makes for very good additions to history books.

There's a conspiracy of silence at work here.

"No, it's nothing too serious." Said Nat, and I immediately resolved to start playing "who can guess John Mandrake's birth name after I tell you it begin with an N and ends with an Athhaniel" with any and all magicians within a four mile radius.

"However," he sighed again, continuing "you are the only demon I know of who is intelligent and cunning enough to help me with this." (Well, it seems in just a few weeks Nat decided to think I can be buttered up like really gullible toast).

"So you're saying I'm the only one worthy of being enslaved and being tortured by you? (Alas, there were many continuations from there, ie. If I keep overpreforming will you allow even more people to enslave me? And Wow Nat! That makes me realize these chains and constant pain are a sign of praise! Feels good now! Etc. However, most of them were sarcasm and I don't do sarcasm.)

Nat calmly sat behind his desk and crossed his fingers. Never a good sign. "Bartimaeus…we are both completely aware of how this situation is going to unfold. You will keep whining about slavery and how you will reveal my birth name, I will think up some elaborate plan to ensure your loyalty and doom you if you betray me…"

"Don't forget that we constantly trade insults while all that is going on. That's the moneymaker right there."

He smoothed his hairs back and continued playing with his fingers. "Indeed. However, I need a clever, reliable demon who will not …to put it bluntly, screw up at the first stage in which innovation is required. We also both realize that any time spent with me is time not spent with other magicians who are far more capable and indeed, willing to punish you for your…lip."

Whilst what he was saying was absolute tripe, he did tempt me to accept simply so someone can properly mock him whenever he keeps preening himself like Lovelace.

Of course, the other upside of Nathaniel is I can mock as freely as I want-he can't really punish me, can't really send me back until the job is done. It's a lose/win/lose/win situation, with the upside that the magician occupies some of the lose slots as well.

But all this thinking is for show. I don't want to serve Nathaniel. I know if he could find a more effective demon he would summon him in a heartbeat. And he still has a conscience. Say what you want about insecurities, but it's always far, far more entertaining to hit someone where they also willingly hit themselves.

"Yeah, yeah." I said. "Doom, consequences, blah blah blah. What is the assignment?"

For the first time, he blushed in my presence without me having directly caused it.

"Well…you may not really believe it…"

And I struggled to. Every damn time.

**This is the start of a sandbox style fic for the Bartimaeus trilogy. It will feature a multitude of one shots and no central plot, with Nathaniel swinging between his Golem's Eye and Ptlomey 's gate personas. Basically, all the other fics I'm continuing are serious, and it's been getting me down.**

**Some will be bizarre( Nathaniel and Bartimaeus accidently winding up in a bar at which Kitty works and being forced to take part in a rap battle), some will be fairly complex and feature magical forensics( Nat and Bartimaeus have to discover who's been killing random commoners and use their rapping skills to do so) and some will be pure crack (Bartimaeus and Nat realize that a professor at Oxford is instigating protests against the government…so they challenge him to a rap battle.) whilst other will involving serious plotting and power struggles (Nat trying to convince his conscience that it's acceptable to keep manipulate and scheme to reach the top – by rapping to himself.)**

**Also, there will be only one rap battle, but those are the four plots I got so far.**


	2. Change

Change

"So what kind of fiend will we be apprehending today? A brutal supplier of pamphlets with a taste for blood? A school teacher who thinks maybe, just maybe the entire government is comprised of evil, corrupt, soulless fool who should be shot on sight?" I asked, waiting for the inevitable spectacle of John ignoring me.

"Close," he answered, pulling his coat closed. "We are going to be talking to a professor of political theory at Oxford."

"You still allow political theory to be studied? And there are people who are not too sickened by the sheer amount of tripe and propaganda the course is bound to be made up of, who actually attend the class? Wow, you guys _are_ masters of manipulation."

John ignored me and kept walking onwards. He was dressed in warm clothes appropriate to the freezing winds we were walking in. He managed to appear more like a student than the soulless magician he was. Some girls gave us approving glances, but that was probably because I had chosen a slightly older guise of Ptolemy.

"So, is the classical debate of communism vs. capitalism vs. magical oligarchy?" I asked, mainly because John was getting more and more withdrawn. He seems to have interpreted safe, secret, secure as shut up and don't talk to your demon.

"No one pays any attention to the systems those fools Rand and Marx thought up." He finally said after a while. On a side note, I was actually in the employ of the magician Fredrich Engels for a while. I gave him several of his best lines including "Workers of the world unite! You have nothing to lose but your chains!". However, I was secretly trying to convince his tame foilot who was no longer under a charge to strangle the fool so we could both return to the other place. Funny how history works sometimes.

"Well, all the people who seriously did are dead aren't they? Score one for demon slavery based oligarchies!"

A slight twitch. Nice. Just a bit of conscience left (which I could see at any rate). "The greatest strength of our government is that it forces others to emulate it. Without magic, none can oppose us. Without power focused in a small group who can quickly make decisions, they will not be able to match our speed. "

"So you force everyone to be evil bastards just like you and then claim superiority because you are the best at it? You win Johnny, you win."

" We do not force them. This world forces everyone. If no demon could be summoned, no single person could wield the power to crush cities, perhaps a democratic system may work. But for now, it doesn't. The commoners need us. We are what save them from this world."

Ah. We reach at last the last wall in John Mandrake's mind. You see, very few people believe they are evil. (The exception is very good people, rather like only the smartest people realizing just how dumb they are.) When their mind is presented with overwhelming evidence suggesting that well, you are a sick individual who is a perpetual blight on the world, you probably cause property values to fall the second you contemplate buying a house in a neighborhood, in short, you are evil and everyone accepts it but you.

The mind then goes into defense mode. You get your basic magician (Farrar, Devereux, etc) who convince themselves that the commoners are a lower form of existence. They don't have to be treated like equals or people, because they _aren't._

Occasionally, you get a fool like Mandrake who was already forced o recognize that most magicians are scum and some commoners are nice at an early age(thank you Lovelace for your evil and Underwood for you incompetence). They then convince themselves that the commoners need them and would be worse off without them.

It's hard to say who is more deluded but quite fun to debate about who is more disgusting.

"We're on campus now. Appear as human as you possibly can." Mandrake said in a bored drawl. We entered a delightfully perverted seat of learning, propaganda on every wall and several professors hurriedly walking along, obviously aware of the dangers of objectivity(it might lead to you telling the magicians how you really feel about them). Just like Alexandria's temples and their priests, like Prauge's old libraries.

Nothing changes.

Inside the office…

"Ah, minister." He said, uncertainly, looking towards Mandrake. Yep. The youth fools people. And sheer skill and cunning will get you otherwise. Mandrake will go far, and unfortunately, he seems intent on taking me with him. "Please take a seat." He gestures towards some rather comfortable chairs which we happily sat in. I liked the office's style. Books surrounded us on all walls, multicolored and leather-bound. Unlike a magicians library which was usually ordered in bulk and uniformly bound, these books were probably collected over the years. Some plants around us, and an inordinate amount of notebooks which appeared scribbled in and magnifying glasses.

"Professor Dawkins." John said, nodding politely.

"Tea?" the professor asked, pouring as a generous amount without waiting for an answer. He poured for himself as well and started drinking. Although he appeared perfectly composed, the hand which was holding the teacup was shaking slightly. "It's not poisoned. I considered it, but from what I hear, you are one of the less despicable magicians. And doubtless there are countless worse ones ready to replace you."

Mandrake smiled wanly at the man. "Indeed…you are perfectly aware why we are here, correct?" he inquired, taking out a small notepad.

"Of course." Answered the Professor. "You are a demon, yes?" he asked me suddenly.

Mandrake paused, and gestured. Although he appeared perfectly composed, I could see his mind working furiously, obviously deciding how to respond.

"As you will soon be dead anyway, yes I am." I said, glaring at Mandrake.

"Ah. I thought so." He said, immediately putting the tea down. "You see, although you give the perfect illusion of being a human, your anatomy gives you away. When you move, the wrong muscles contort. He was excited and almost breathless now, probably one of those damn true academics.

"You are quite knowledgeable in anatomy for a political theory professor." Commented Mandrake softly, sinisterly sipping his tea.

"One of my many interests." He said gesturing to some of the shelves, where I could see several books by names like Turner, Darwin, Harper and Goulding. My master looked too, but it appears that he didn't recognize any of the non-magician written ones.

"Darwin was a magician if I remember correctly." He said. "He was executed for his supposed involvement in several conspiracies."

I snorted. "You mean he wasn't interested in politics. Whenever a magician spends time researching anything other magicians immediately think he's plotting something. They see their own madness in everything. From ancient Egypt to the delightful present. "

"How old are you?" asked the professor in wonder.

"About 6000 years, in human terms anyway." I answered. I had taken a liking to the guy. He reminded me a bit of Ptolemy. Not completely, because this guy was seemingly trapped in a selfish quest for knowledge to satisfy his own need for it. Ptolemy sought to help others with his research. But still, the similarities were there.

"And in all that time…has there ever been a working nonmagical government?" he asked, taking out several notebooks and opening them at specific places. I took a glance.

"Ah…so you know of those places. Between the fall of the older empire and the rise of the new one, there usually occur some independent states, far away from the blossoming new empire. The best example was probably the Greek city states which formed when Egypt fell and Rome began to rise. In Sparta, the magicians lived lives as hard as everyone else, and considered it their sacred duty to only use their magic in defense of the state. Whereas today's wretch of a magician is brainwashed into a sort of collective self interest as from ages five and up."

"Fascinating as this is" began Mandrake, only to be violently shushed by me.

" John," I said, placing heavy stress on the name. "This man is going to die in a few hours. At least let me validate or destroy his theories before that happens."

"How were the magicians of Sparta raised then?" asked the professor, scribbling in one of his notebooks. I couldn't help but guess that all those question marks were the results of the magicians updating history.

"Not really sure, sorry." I answered. "I only know about the Spartans from a debate me and Farquarl had. The only time I really spent in Greece was in Thessaly and Thebes. They had this problem with an automation and-

"Bartimaeus, shut up. That is a charge." John Mandrake was leering, seething and probably fighting a battle with his conscience now. I was liking the professor more and more.

I was not in a pentacle, but I acquiesced. When it came down to it, the professor was dead. I wasn't sure why John was bothering with the personal route, although I knew why Nathaniel would have.

"Professor Dawkins, you have had an exemplary career up to about…three years ago…can you please tell me what prompted your sudden change in values and what distorted teachings you then filled these young minds with?" asked John.

The professor drew in a deep breath. "It was always mocking me. Like some beast inside my head. The idea that everything I teach is a filthy lie, the idea that I am nothing but a filthy puppet that helps to keep people drowned in a sea of lies."

"You may dispense with the attempts at poetic imagery." Said Mandrake coldly.

"Even now. I am aware of my imminent execution. I just want to know one thing…can the world really be this cruel? Can our very existence merely be an everlasting battle between rising and falling empires? Will the majority of people spend their lives trampled on because they don't consort with demons? Above all…can the points I made…my life's work…was I lying to myself the whole time?"

He sat heavily, the fear of death having been his only constant, withering him. Mandrake was moving slightly, for a second his hand twitched towards his jacket pocket.

"In the end…no specific act…it was all suddenly too much…I started questioning…started to teach other theories, opinions. Nothing completely radical, but many which could be seen as subversive."

"In particular," noted Mandrake, "you started to question the value of magicians. You know that we are exempt from the phrase "question everything".

"You have exempted yourselves from many things, including morality." Retorted the professor, who probably accepted that death was coming for him no matter what he did, and he'd rather meet it as a sort of honest man rather than a lying coward.

Mandrake, with his rigid self-control ignored the little bite. "You have, however, made no attempt to leave the country. Why is that?"

The professor stared at him oddly. "You need security clearance to be able to go to foreign shores. All non-magicians do. I applied for clearance, but, it appears I no longer have to hold my breath for the results."

For a second, Mandrake's hand brushed over his coat, seemingly stopping when it went over some papers. His hands were back in front of him in an instant.

"Ah…we thought you might have been affiliated with a foreign terrorist group. Undoubtedly they would have been able to get you to some safe hole where you could churn out propaganda. But, my agents have been watching you for quite some time and have found nothing linking you with them. You are indeed, a dead link, and you appear to be acting under orders from nothing other than your conscience."

The professor's eyes showed hope. His chances of teaching ever again would be slim, but he might yet live. It appeared to him, that having been absolved of working for terrorists, he would not be punished too severely.

It's obvious he hadn't spent much time with magicians.

"However, indirectly, you have helped to damage the faith the people have in our government and have made yourself part of the general decay which is evident in the riots, strikes and unruliness. You are hurting the government's ability to help the people, and therefore you are hurting the people. You are not alone in your crimes, but my job is to ensure that this…ill mood over the country ceases. "

He looked right into the condemned man's eyes.

"We have no place for doubt, questions or uncertainty. Professor, I am hereby formally charging you with acting against the Empire, spreading anarchy," and yadda yadda yadda.

At least other magicians don't try to justify themselves so much. Sigh.

Later, back in the cold winds…

Yeah…so the old professor is on his way to a quick execution and we're on our way back to Mandrake's office. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth, this kind of thing. But no talking to Mandrake, no. Why should I make him angry at me when his time could be much better spent hating himself?

But still, I would have loved to comment when John took the security clearance papers out of his coat and stared at them. All of the professors details were already in there, filled in. The man was no threat. He would have nothing to worry about.

And yet I had to watch John Mandrake tear up the papers which Nathaniel would have given the professor without a second of hesitation.


End file.
